Poem in which I am wearing a pair of cat eye sunglasses

I am swimming in a pool of yellowy green water wearing a chartreuse one-piece.

I am driving through a ghost town in a pink convertible blasting vintage soul into the dusty air.

I am lying on a pink candlewick bedspread in the black swan motel reading a paperback copy of Flowers in the Attic.

I am drinking Lemon & Paeroa in a café with red formica tables and cracked vinyl barstools.

There is a light brown stain on my lime green bri-nylon minidress.

My hair is showing its unnatural colour at the roots.

I find myself chewing on foiled strands.

I am riding a rusty bike to the foursquare.

I buy four granny smith apples, one royal gala and one unstickered yellow apple.

My hair is lank and greasy so I cover it with a leopardskin headscarf which I twist into a knot on top of my head.

I spend eight hours at work wearing a brown velvet dress with a pair of yellow tights.

I drink coffee from a red paper cup and read gurlesque poetry.

I am listening to 1960’s ye ye singers on a portable record player.

I am at the mall with my friends buying stickers and fake flowers from the two dollar store.

I swing on a swing in the local park in turned up stove-pipes and ballet flats.

I tie a pale blue ribbon around my ponytail.

I buy groceries at the supermarket.

My bed is unmade.

I spend an hour staring out the window at the corrugated iron roof of the house next door.

I look at the i-princesses glittering on-screen.

I am pulling on a rabbit fur cape.

I am casting off kid skin gloves

There is rain outside.

There is gold glitter all over the bedroom floor

The bathroom sink is filled with cut daisies

Sometimes I think of escaping my hometown.

I can imagine us in a field of marigolds.

It’s broken, but I like it here.

Andrea Quinlan


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